If you know me at all, you know I have never met a stranger in my life.
I had been visiting customers in a state over, and the day got away from me. I decided to spend the night and drive back in the morning.
I typed “hotels near me,’ into Maps and clicked on the closest one that looked clean and affordable. It was just one night, so anything would do.
I let good old Maps guide me, not really thinking, just mindlessly turning when it told me too.
When it said I had arrived, I was a little taken aback.
A motel with mint green, chipping paint. But what really got my attention were the last two rooms.
They were blocked off with police tape. Common sense would say to look for another place to go. But common sense does not always follow me.
Tha vacancy sign had a few letters flashing. I took that as a sign to stay.
I strolled up to the office door and was surprised to find it clean and kind of modern. There was an old-fashion bell on the counter that said ring for assistance.
I smacked the bell a couple of times, just because it was fun and felt like the beginning of Psycho.
A man in his late forties appeared, sharply dressed in a flamingo-cover polo and emerald green slacks.
“Good evening. What can I do for you?” All business, no smile. He quickly took down my name and card information.
“You are in room 17. Here is your key. Please sign in with the guest book and where you are from,” he said.
A guest book? I had already paid, so I decided to just go with it.
“I am Tim. My shift is about over. Wilma will be the night clerk,” he said sternly. Then he looked around and lowered his voice.
“Please don’t take offense if Wilma is gruff. She just hates her job, but she comes to work.”
I stare at him.
Tim smiled. “You have been warned. Enjoy your stay.”
He handed me a large gold keychain with a key labeled 17.
“If you need anything, just call the number taped to the back of the keychain. I hope you enjoy your stay. And do come again.”
With that, Tim disappeared through the door.
Okay.
I headed out to figure out which direction my room was in. It didn’t take long to realize which one I had. The one closest to the caution-taped doors. Damn. I had forgotten about them.
I was not going back inside to ask for another room. It would be fine. Besides, my feet were killing me, and I just wanted my hoodie and sweats.
I pulled into my spot at door 17, grabbed my bag and did my best to ignore the other two doors.
“Oh my God, is that blood on the door?” I said aloud to no one. I turned away and focused on getting my door unlocked.
I was shocked by how clean and modern the room was.
I flopped down on the bed and text my husband and friend where I was, along with a few details about the place. You know, just incase Norman Bates was roaming around.
After changing, I hear a knock at the door.
I grabbed my hairbrush as a weapon. There was no peephole. Another knock came, louder and more aggressive.
I cracked the door and peaked out.
It was a slightly older woman with stunning silver hair and bright light green eyes. She was well dressed. She had to be lost. I pulled open the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Wilma, the night clerk. I came to see if you needed anything,” she said with a genuine, friendly smile.
“Hi, Wilma. No, I think I’m goood. But thank you,” I said, starting to shut the door.
Wilma turns to walk away, then turns back and said ” You like charcuterie boards and expensive champagne? A regular customer always leaves me a gift after her stay, and she left me two nice ones. It will go to waste if I don’t share it with someone.”
My curiosity is terrible and always gets the best of me.
“You know what, Wilma? That sounds amazing. I would love to join you.”
She smiles. “Come on then, lets get some food.”
I thought we were heading to the office. Instead, we went to room 1.
I probably should have realized that could end badly. But that didn’t occur to me until my husband pointed it out later.
My attention immediately went to the spread on the table.
“I hope you like Harry & David. This one has caviar and blinis. The other is Classic Epicurean. And a bottle of Dom on ice,” she said, like this was an everyday occurrence.
Speechless.
She motions for me to sit and pours us both a generous amount of of champagne into the flutes.
I do not want to offend Wilma by turning my nose at her generosity.
Wilma handed me a plate. “I recommend starting with the caviar. It is very rich and savory, but not really filling.”
I said a silent prayer that I would not gag or die. Plus, it was free. What was a girl to do?
“Oh wow, Wilma, you weren’t wrong. This is amazing,” I said reaching for another blini.
“So, Wilma tell me about yourself.” I could tell right away that she had lived an interesting life.
She never got the chance. A massive shiny dually roared into the parking lot, and a mountain of muscles with an impressive tan jumped out of the truck, screaming for Wilma.
Wilma was out the door in a flash.
This really was not my business, I thought. But I am nosy. I walked over to the door.
“Wilma, I want my cat back. That was the agreement when we broke up,” he said. I was stunned.
Oh year, Wilma definitely has some stories.
“Theo, your neighbor called and said Benson was out running around. He is a house cat.”
Theo looked angry. “Wilma, you agreed I could take the cat if I moved out. Now give him back.”
He had to be a full foot taller than her.
“No, Theo, you aren’t getting him back. He isn’t a common alley cat. You know he has allergies and special diet requirements.”
“Wilma, I picked him out. Give me my cat. Or so help me,” Theo said, stepping closer. I moved to intervene.
“Theo, you remember the last time you threatened me? Now go,” Wilma said, her voice stopping me cold.
Theo smirked, and that was the last thing he did standing upright. I swear it was a blur. One moment he was standing there, the next he was on the ground, grabbing his throat and coughing and gagging.
“Theo, go, or I will call the police,” Wilma said calmly.
Theo coughed and gagged, holding his throat. He nodded, and Wilma turned and walked back to where I was standing.
“Wilma, did you just throat punch him?” I asked, stunned.
Wilma nodded. “Yes. That crybaby thinks he’s so tough and intimidating. Well, no one is if you throat punch them. Now come on, dear. No one likes warm Dom.”
We spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing. Wilma had recently bought the place and was remodeling it. She also showed me how to do a proper throat punch.
Wilma has become a good friend, and my go-to place for lodging and self-defense lesson when traveling.
I’ve never met a stranger.
Just a few good stories, and one excellent woman with champagne.
Hope you enjoyed reading! Until next time!
